The Phosphorescent Ocean

Stop it. 
You were only six:
Cold light, electron traps,
all that biology at work
to make the ocean phosphorescent,
and you splashing through it,
throwing sand, kicking, anything
to make the water leap like blue-green
fire. No, you could not have known
how many millions died for a vision.
Yes, yes, I know:
Those sweet dynoflagellates,
countless in a cup of water,
all burning like microscopic meteors
through that predawn, their invisible blood
permeating your white boating shoes,
their bodies on your hands, your hair,
beginning to fade into morning
when it was on to Catalina,
trailing a shimmering wake
that gathered and struck the horizon
like a god arrow to Pylos,
but you could not have known:
You were only six.
Stop it.


(SKJ, 1985; Photograph by Steve Ketzer, Sr., 1955)